There was something about seeing his body sprawled over the deathly cold metal portable bed that sparked something in me. It was in that moment that I realized he was more than just a friend; he was exactly what I was looking for.

*

Read More1 note 18/01/10UNTITLED I

What if you suddenly found yourself totally alone in Times Square and discovered you were the only thing living in New York City?

I was king, king of everything. No established law mattered. Nothing mattered. I did what I wanted, when I wanted.

Days went by, all becoming repetitious, day after day. There was nothing new to do. Everything any normal kid, whose parents aren’t dream killing, overprotective vegans, dreams of has been fulfilled. I’ve eaten enough candy to make ravenous Africans as obese as overfed Americans. I’ve watched enough porno that in contrast to me, Ron Jeremy is a saint.

After the long span of identical days, there was a break. A unique day. The first in a long time. I saw someone. All I saw in the distance, was the figure of a woman. Her blue dress hugged her perfect curves, and curly blonde hair laced her face, a face that startlingly resembled my own.

As she rubbed her lips together, they moistened. Those sensual cherry red lips, coupled with my lack of sexual interaction almost forced me onto her. She pulled my shirt off, as I pulled her dress down below her breasts. Her bare chest was on my own, her nails etched into my back. She tilted her head and bit my neck. Not too hard, but hard enough for me to react. And as I reacted I saw someone else. A good hundred yards away from us. Staring at us, arms crossed, in a red shirt. The more the unnamed woman and I made love, the closer the person got. What was once a red speck, was a 6’2”, twenty something year old guy, with a face that startlingly resembled my own.

He grabbed the girl by her hair and tossed her into a car. She got out easy.

He grabbed me by my neck, and lifted me at least two feet off the ground. “Keep your filthy hands off my girl.” He said in between punches. The blows to my chest and face left me on the ground, bloody and frail.

I saw a green handkerchief on the floor a few feet away from me. As I was cleaning most of the blood off my skin I saw the edges of the fabric were somewhat torn. This wasn’t a handkerchief, it was a part of a shirt. I looked up and saw a young boy, no older than thirteen standing above me. The boy resembled the ideal child. His piercing green eyes stood out from his porcelain skin with hints of brown freckles. Even amidst the perfection, he had a face that startlingly resembled my own.

“Are you okay sir?” The pitch of his voice was almost angelic. “It’s times like these where I wish I weren’t so envious of him. He gets too angry too fast.”

“You’re related to him?” I asked.

“My brother.”

“The girl?”

“His girlfriend. It’s not your fault, you found yourself so attracted to her. Almost every man has an insatiable lust for her.”

“Johnny?” We heard in the distance, as our heads turned to the direction of the voice simultaneously.

“Mother.” The boy whispered.

The woman was wearing a violet blouse. The shade of purple complimented her auburn hair that effortlessly rested on her shoulders. Her face was almost identical to her son, and she had a face that startlingly resembled my own.

“There you are. You can’t run off like that. It hurts my image as a perfect mother. Do you really want to hurt mommy’s pride?”

“No mother.”

“I am trying to keep you from being anything like your deadbeat father.” She said under her breath, disgusted.

A man in a light blue leather jacket grabbed the mother by her hair. The face of this man, it startlingly resembled my own. “I don’t mean to ruin the perfect little hairs coming out of that god damn perfect head of yours, but I’m no dead beat. There’s a difference between low life, and lazy. At least I make money to fund your useless shopping trips. How many god damn pair of shoes do you need you greedy little hog?”

The heel of the mother’s yellow shoes snapped, and she collapsed from the pressure of her own weight. “I’m not greedy. I’m just preventing some ugly soccer mom from wearing these valuable shoes, and ruining its name.”

The man slapped the mother, and his thick red bracelet, left a mark on her cheek.

“Mom, dad, look.” The boy called. He sat in the Hershey’s store eating every piece of candy possible. Told you all kids want to do is eat candy.

The once perfect boy, immersed in orange candy wrappers was sitting there, fat and gluttonous as the next average, overweight American.

These five people I encountered in minutes duplicated. Before I knew it there were hundreds of them. They were growing exponentially. Each of them doing the same thing; seducing, fighting, envying, being proud, being lazy, being greedy, and being gluttonous.

In less than ten minutes, I was in a sea of the same group of people. No spoken word was decipherable, every action was the same.

I fell to my knees, begging God to put an end to this. At that exact moment, a glass bottle rolled toward me. I knew, it had to be. I grabbed the bottle by its neck and shattered it against the ground. Glass shards flew like a group of pigeons when someone tosses a piece of bread onto the floor.

I drove the broken bottle into my stomach, piercing the skin. But it happened all too slow. All that happened was a steady flow of blood poured from my abdomen to the ground. I took shards of glass and rubbed them into my eyes, blinding myself, causing myself to bleed even more. Any other pieces of glass I could find I put in my mouth and began to chew. Chew and swallow. This combination would be deadly. The chewing lead to even more bleeding, and the swallowing, the swallowing led to ruptured organs.

As I was there, bleeding and almost blind, I looked up. And what I saw, it startled me. The sea of people wasn’t the same five people. Each person was completely different. Everything from business men, to police officers, from call girls to school children. I lifted my head up a little higher and saw a billboard with a mother and son hugging each other. Next to the oversized words read, “You can kill your Dissociative Identity Disorder before it kills you.”

You know what your mom told you about death? The shining, white light at the end of a dark tunnel? Sugar-coated bull. There was nothing white about this death. All there was was black. Not the Licorice black you’d find in a box of Crayola Crayons that made the color sound somewhat appealing. Dismal, bleak black – the true color of death.

As the black somehow faded darker and darker, my thoughts faded with it. And that was the end. No angel ushering me into the gates of Heaven so I can play poker with the big guy upstairs. No such thing of marvel. All there was left was my lifeless self lying on the corner of 45th St. and 5th Ave. Somehow I was dead, on the sidewalk of the heaviest populated street corner in all of New York, and no one seemed to notice. If there’s one thing that stayed the same from life to death, is the fact that